


Whiplash

by CBFirestarter, TrenchcoatBaby



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Angst with a Happy Ending, Biological BDSM, Biologically Necessary Submission, Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond, Dom Castiel/Sub Dean Winchester, Domestic Fluff, Dubious Consent, Heavy BDSM, Impact Play, M/M, Medical Kink, Medical Patient Dean Winchester, Medical treatment BDSM, No Scat, Shameless Smut, Team Dean Winchester's Red Ass, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Trainer Castiel, all other kinks fair game, no infantilization, no watersports, romantic relationship only between Cas/Dean, training facility
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 06:20:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29870433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CBFirestarter/pseuds/CBFirestarter, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrenchcoatBaby/pseuds/TrenchcoatBaby
Summary: In a world where being dominant or submissive is part of your biology, Dean Winchester is a sub in trouble. Resistant to his submissive nature and the role society expects him to play, Dean fights against his body’s instincts until he’s sent to Purgatory—a high-class facility meant to train subs and help them find their perfect match. Skeptical and wary, Dean warms up to the program for one reason, and one reason only: his trainer, Castiel Novak. Castiel is the poster-boy of dominance, a workaholic outside the playroom, and probably the hottest Dom Dean has ever seen.As their bond becomes more passionate and profound, the boundaries between them blur and feelings begin to surface. But not everyone approves of their powerful connection…in fact, someone might just do anything to stop it in its tracks.
Relationships: Castiel (Supernatural)/Other(s), Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester/Other(s)
Comments: 102
Kudos: 226





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> CBFirestarter: Welcome back, bitches! Oh, how we missed you all. Right, TCBaby?
> 
> Trenchcoatbaby: Oh my Jack, that doesn’t even begin to cover it. We have missed posting SO much since our last fic ended. And we’ve been daydreaming about this new story, for I dunno…months?! 
> 
> CB: It feels like a lifetime, and this fic is already practically writing itself.
> 
> TCB: Truly! Well, if you’ve been on a WIP journey with us before, you know we like to update regularly. For this fic, we’re aiming for updates on Fridays…a fun way to kick off the weekend!
> 
> CB: So this fic is biological BDSM, meaning people are born submissives, dominants, or switches. When people in the universe don’t engage in BDSM they can become physically ill. Meaning when Dean needs a spanking, he REALLY needs a spanking lol.
> 
> That being said, due to the nature of this AU and the universe these characters operate in, much of this fic will be what feels like dubious consent to non-consensual. In many ways it’s a bit like the “fuck or die” trope in that—for Dean’s health—he needs to be dominated, kinda whether he likes it or not. Castiel is always acting in Dean’s best interest, but at the beginning—due to Dean’s state—the traditional things that make BDSM safe in our world, like safewords, won’t be used. If this makes you uncomfortable, it might not be the best fic for you. Dean and Cas don’t see these scenes as dubious consent, but a reader from our real world would, Still, that's sorta the fun of a fantasy world. It should really be a good kinky fun time with the boys falling in love. Since this is a WIP and we can’t predict every change in this fic, we know that more true non-consensual acts might happen between Dean and others later on in the fic, though we promise to properly warn and tag as needed (if that occurs). 
> 
> TCB:Couldn’t have said it better myself, CB. **If anyone struggles with dubious consent scenarios, this will not be the fic for you.** Parts of this will be dark and uncomfortable, and we would NEVER want to trigger or upset anyone. That said, the majority of this fic is going to be sexy, kinky, romantic, and full of pining, so if that’s your bag, we hope you consider joining us! 
> 
> CB: We want to thank our beta readers [WaywardJenn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardjenn/pseuds/waywardjenn) and [Lorelei2005](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorelei2005/pseuds/Lorelei2005) for helping us along the way. Also a HUGE thank you to our lovely [EllenOfOz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllenOfOz/pseuds/EllenOfOz), who both edits our work and has created our amazing banner art—such a talent! We are truly lucky.
> 
> TCB: Yes, that’s an understatement. We have the best betas, the best readers, and I, personally, have the best coauthor in the world. <3 Well, we’ve chatted long enough, I’d say, haha. Enjoy the first chapter of _Whiplash_!

Dean groans as he slowly begins to orient himself to his surroundings. He wiggles his toes and fingers, glad to see they still move. He blinks his eyes open, despite the pounding sensation in his head. He takes in the hospital bed, gown, and the woman in scrubs reading a clipboard by his feet.

“Waking up already?” the woman smiles at him, looking up from her clipboard.

“Guess so. What happened?” he grunts, as he tries to pull himself up the bed.

“Easy. Let me help.” The woman comes around and pushes a button to lift the head of the bed, helping him sit up.

“Where am I?” he asks a bit uneasy, trying to remember how he ended up here.

“You are at Johnson Memorial Hospital, and you were in a car accident,” the woman tells him, propping a pillow up behind his head. His ribs ache a bit at the movement. He tries to remember the accident, but his mind is a little fuzzy. “You got very lucky from what I hear. The doctor should be in shortly to talk to you, and I believe your family just stepped out to grab a coffee. Would you like any soft restraints?” The nurse gestures to the side of the bed at the soft buckled cuffs for wrists and ankles.

Dean can’t help the scarlet blush to his cheeks. They must have read his ID card…they know he’s a submissive. 

“No thank you,” he replies evenly.

“Alrighty, just let me know. It can really help our submissive patients relax. My name is Tessa, and just hit this button here if you need me.”

Dean will never forget when his finger prick test at school came back with his results as a submissive. To say he’d been shocked was an understatement, and he’d quickly been moved to the submissive classes and given his identification card from the school. Even now in the hospital, he can’t be allowed to forget his status.

Dean watches as she leaves the room and begins accessing the damage he can see. A few bandages on his left arm and neck. He lifts a hand to feel his head, and— _yup_ , there's a bandage there too.

“Dean!” He turns his head to see Sam bolting into the room, spilling coffee on his hand. “Aww, dammit,” Sam curses, setting down the cup. “Dean, how are you feeling?” He begins looking Dean over, and even acts like he’s gonna feel Dean’s head for a fever.

“Jesus, calm down, Sam. I’m fine,” he grumbles, batting away his brother's hand. “Just tell me what happened.”

“You don’t remember?” Sam squints his eyes critically at Dean.

“Last thing I remember was talking to Bobby about the Camry he got in for scrap.” Dean struggles to remember past that conversation—it all just feels fuzzy.

“Bobby says you took it for a drive around the block to see how it ran, and you didn’t come back. He went looking for you and found you and the car in a ditch.” Sam looks at him expectantly, waiting for him to fill in the blanks.

“I don’t know what happened, Sam, so stop looking at me like that,” Dean grumbles and closes his eyes, willing the pain in his head to ease up a little.

“Dean.” He looks up to see Bobby and John coming into the room with coffees of their own.

“Hey,” Dean greets them. “Sorry about the car, Bobby. I don’t know what happened. Is it totaled?”

“Car was a junker, Dean, don’t worry about it.” Bobby comes and pats him on his shin. “I care more about its idjit driver.” 

Dean doesn’t miss that John hasn’t said anything. Just another thing to add to the list of disappointments, he supposes. His father is staring at the linoleum floor and sipping his coffee silently.

Dean feels that lightheaded feeling again, and has to close his eyes to center himself. 

“Dean, should I get the doctor?” Sam asks nervously, but Dean gingerly shakes his head no.

“Mister Winchester,” a voice calls, and Dean opens his eyes to see a doctor entering with a tablet in her hand, followed by a man he’s never seen. “Hello there. My name is Doctor Hanscum.”

“Hi Doc.” Dean tries for a smile but fails, thinking that her sunny disposition is a bit much for how shitty he’s feeling.

“Gave your family here quite the scare, you know. This one wouldn’t stop badgering all the nurses for news on you.” The doctor nods toward his father in the corner, and John shifts uncomfortably. _Was he really worried about him?_ Bobby and Sam have smug looks on their faces, but keep quiet.

“Can I go home, Doc?” Dean says, asking the thing he really wants to know the most.

“Not yet. I’m afraid we need to have a talk. Would you like your family present?” 

Dean glances at them. He figures it's easier if they hear it from the doc now then interrogate him later. Plus, how bad can it be? Other than his head and some scrapes, he thinks there can’t be much to report.

“They can stay if they want,” he says with a shrug, like it's no big deal…even if it makes him shift in his bed a bit.

“You betcha.” The doctor smiles, and damn, she does kinda set him at ease. “As far as injuries from the accident, you got very lucky. You have a bit of a concussion, some superficial cuts, and some swelling on your left knee…but all should heal fairly quickly.” He nods—none of that surprises him. “My bigger concern is what caused the accident.”

Well, that sounds fucking ominous. “I probably just got a little lightheaded is all. Shouldn’t have skipped breakfast.” Dean hasn’t had much of an appetite these days and he knows he’s lost some weight recently.

“Yes, that doesn’t surprise me to hear. Your blood pressure was very low when you got here and your sugar levels as well. We did some blood work on you and checked your hormone and neurotransmitter panels. Serotonin was very low, which as you might know from health classes can mean depression and feelings of insecurity.” She pauses, looking at Dean to see if he’s familiar with those terms.

“I, uh, remember a little of that stuff.” Honestly, he didn’t pay much attention when health class talked about the difference between dominants’ and submissives’ hormones. He isn’t ruled by his hormones, thank you very much.

“Well, your Norepinephrine was very high…at levels that tell me your mind and body is under a great deal of stress. You also have dangerously low levels of the Subamine hormone, and this is likely the cause of weight loss, low blood pressure, and your low blood sugar. Not to mention the effects on your state of mind, confusion, irritability, and depression.”

“I’m not irritable,” he growls, and the doctor raises her brow at him while Bobby huffs a laugh at him.

“Who are you kidding, Dean? You’ve been miserable for months now,” Sam says, in that arrogant tone he’s grown into since he presented as a dominant.

“Look, it's nothing I can’t handle. I just need to eat a little more…no problem,” he tells everyone, daring them to challenge him.

“Listen to the doctor, son.” John’s baritone echoes in the room and, heaven help him, Dean shrinks a bit in his seat. Stupid fucking submissive hormones.

“This is a bit more serious than that, Dean. Your levels are life-threatening. You could have a stroke, or go into kidney failure. Honestly, I’m shocked you are conscious and talking, with your levels where they are. State guidelines require me to report you as a submissive in distress.”

Dean sits up at that. “Oh, hell no. I am not going to one of those state-run torture dungeons!”

“Calm yourself, sub,” comes a deep voice he doesn’t recognize, grabbing his attention.

“Dean, this is Mister Victor Henrickson. He works for Purgatory Orientation Facility.” The Doctor takes a step back, revealing a handsome black man in a grey suit who had been standing back in the corner until now.

Dean opens his mouth to tell this guy to go to hell, but he can’t find his voice. Not when there's that much Dom energy focused right on him. 

“I’ve read your file, Mister Winchester. Registered submissive at fifteen years old, you completed your state-required six-month submissive training after your eighteenth birthday, with fairly low marks.” The man eyes Dean before continuing, “Then you signed yourself out as an independent submissive. It was contingent on regular blood testing every six months to make sure your submissive needs were being met.”

Dean cringes at that. He had never gone back for testing. He didn’t need any stupid test to tell him what he needed. He would have an occasional hook-up with a Dom when he could feel himself getting really antsy, but it rarely helped anyways. He was just so scared something like this would happen and they would try and beat him into a proper submissive—some mindless little cocksucker. He’d rather die on his own two feet than live on his knees for some asshole Dom.

Henrickson clears his throat. “You did not return for any testing since then, which has landed you in this predicament.”

“Dean!” John growls now, stepping forward. “You said you were getting your tests done.”

“And you said the numbers were all fine!” Sam adds.

“Okay, okay. I didn’t go, alright? Those tests don’t know everything and I can take care of myself,” he says, crossing his arms and feeling like he wants to puke.

“Boy, you know how reckless that was?” Bobby joins in, sounding angrier than even John and Sam. “You could have been killed!”

Great, now _everyone_ is ganging up on him.

“Don’t be overdramatic, Bobby,” he mumbles, and rolls his eyes.

“And don’t you dare try and play this down. You work with large heavy machinery, Dean. What if you hit the lift and dropped a car on yourself? If you’d been driving faster when you crashed you coulda died.” Dean doesn’t think he’s ever seen Bobby this mad, and it suddenly has him feeling like utter shit.

“Sorry, Bobby.” He _is_ sorry—he never wanted to scare his family like that.

“Alright, let's all take a deep breath,” Dr. Hanscum chimes in, with a warm, confident look on her face. Dean suspects she might be soft dominant. “Now Dean, unfortunately because of your levels, there is a court order for you to receive emergency treatment for your submissive needs. Normally we would send you to a state facility…however, Purgatory Orientation Facility has offered you a spot at their program pro-bono. Mister Henrickson here can tell you a bit more about it. It’s your choice which facility you go to, but it is mandatory that you receive treatment at one of them.”

Henrickson stands up and walks closer. “Here are some pamphlets for you,” he says, passing little folded packets into his hands. Dean looks down at the cover. A tall, handsome man stands in a sharp navy suit, his hair neatly parted and cool blue eyes staring right at the camera. His hand rests on the head of another man kneeling next to him, naked and hands covering his cock, head tipped down in submission. Dean can’t take his eyes off the dominant in the picture. Something about that look makes his stomach drop.

He reads through it a little—private suites and varying skilled certified trainers. Swimming pool, gym, and game room all sound kinda cool, and the pictures of the food look good. He turns to the training rooms and feels a shiver run through him at all the restraints and impact tools. Several different kink training options and a medical facility to monitor levels of the submissives. The last page explains their extensive training and matchmaking services offered for graduated patients.

“This place is kinda cool, Dean,” Sam whispers to him, even though everyone in the room can hear him. “It's gotta be better than one of those state-funded ones.”

He knows Sam is right, but why the hell does he have to go at all? He can’t possibly be as sick as they claim he is. 

“And if I refuse?” he asks, one last humming buzz of defiance coursing through him.

“You won’t though… Will you?” Henrickson stares him down a moment. Dean looks at his family—Bobby, John, and Sam. The three people he knows better than anyone in the world. It's because he knows them well so that he can tell what they are thinking. 

They want him to go.

“Well, who’s gonna take care of Sam if I’m gone that long?”

“I can handle it, Dean. You need to start taking care of yourself instead of everyone else,” John chimes in, his voice sounding strained.

“I’m sixteen now. You don’t need to take care of me,” Sam argues, as if that isn’t a load of horseshit. Who would do his laundry and make sure there's food in the fridge? Who would help him with his homework? Granted, he has struggled to help his brainiac brother with his AP classes lately. He accepts that he isn’t smart—his GED barely holds a candle to Sam’s advanced Trig homework. Still he is the only one who knows how to make mac and cheese the way Sam likes it, and that has to count for something.

“Between the three of us, we will be just fine. I promise…no one will starve while you're gone,” Bobby says, and it's his reassurance that does it for Dean.

“Fine. But you swear this place isn’t gonna cost me anything?” He has a decent savings, but he’s been keeping it for Sam’s college fund.

“No, it won’t. We are offering you one of our select free spots for troubled subs,” Henrickson answers.

 _Troubled sub_. Is that really what he is now? 

He can’t see a way out of this, so he signs the paperwork, using all of his concentration to keep his hand from shaking. He stares at the calm, confident look of the man on the cover of the pamphlet again, and wonders how he’s gonna get through this as himself.

***

Dean tries not to shift too much in the stiff waiting room chair. The severe looking woman behind the desk keeps shooting daggers at him every time he fidgets. He just needs to get through this program and make the state happy, then get the hell out of here. He’s scened with some intense Doms before—he can handle whatever they throw at him.

The state gave him two weeks at home to heal before he was required to report to the facility. John had decided to drive him and refused to let Sam take the day off from school, which is probably for the best. It had been a silent, awkward two hour ride in the Impala. Things had been hard between him and John since he presented as a submissive…the disappointment in John’s face when he handed him the letter from the school will stay with Dean forever. He’d passed Dean his duffle this morning, told him to be good, and left Dean on the curb of the facility. He was an adult, though, and he didn’t need his dad to walk in with him. The place seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, nestled near a state forest at the foot of a large mountain range. At least it was prettier than the salvage yard at Sioux Falls.

“Dean?” 

He looks up and sees the Dom, Henrickson, the one he met at the hospital. He stands up and situates the duffel bag on his shoulder. He winces a little, still sore from his accident.

“Hey man,” Dean greets him, and fast as a whip Victor snatches his wrist and twists it up behind his back, making him gasp in pain and drop his bag. “What the fuck!” he grunts, trying to pull away from the firm hold…but Victor got the jump on him, and he can’t move without dislocating his shoulder. Dean’s cock gives the tiniest twitch of interest at being manhandled— _fucking traitor._

“I want this training to go smoothly for you, sub. Your assigned head trainer will give you all the rules shortly. There is only one rule you need to know for now, and that is that I and every other Dom in this facility will be referred to as ‘Sir’ unless otherwise directed. Do you capice?”

“I capice—ow, fuck!” he gasps, as Victor twists a little harder on his already sore wrist. “Sir, yes Sir. I capice.”

“Good boy.” Victor releases his hold, rubbing a soothing thumb against his pulse points before letting go. Dean glances over to see a smug smile on the woman behind the desk. His cheeks heat in embarrassment, and again his traitorous cock seems amused by that. Victor reaches down, grabbing Dean’s dropped bag and putting it on his own shoulder. “You seem a bit sore still. I can carry this for you. Follow me.”

 _Didn’t seem to care that I was sore when you yanked my arm around,_ Dean thinks to himself, but is smart enough not to say it. He never understood the mercurial moods of dominants—they could be smacking your ass one moment and pampering you the next. It made no sense to him. Still, he follows Henrickson down the hall. Even though he’s seen the pamphlets, he’s still surprised at how bright and white everything is.

The smooth tiled hallway has a glass wall on one side that shows an open courtyard with trees and benches. He notices one woman sitting on a bench reading a book, with a nude man kneeling in the grass next to her. The only thing he's wearing is a leather collar and his eyes are closed, hands clasped behind his back. The woman's free hand cards through his hair, and for just a second Dean thinks it looks kinda…nice. He shakes his head though, coming to his senses. It’s likely just a form of punishment or something, embarrassing the guy like that.

He thinks if that’s the worst they do for punishment—just make people walk around naked—then that isn’t so bad. One Dom he met used a cane on the soles of Dean’s feet for talking back. He couldn’t walk for a week, and had to fake a stomach bug to get out of work with Bobby. He tries hard not to think of how much pain he’s in for, in this place. He likes pain, but he doesn’t like being injured—and there's a damn difference that most Doms don’t seem to understand.

“Through here. Take a seat,” Victor calls to him, and he looks to see him pointing at an office. Dean slips inside feeling suddenly exhausted, an unfortunate norm for him lately. He plops down in the chair and rubs at his eyes. He knows he needs to be sharp right now, but his body is just not cooperating. “You look pale.” Victor reaches in his desk and pulls out a chocolate bar and bottle of water.

Dean just stares at them, his stomach aching a bit. “I’m okay. Thanks, Sir.”

“Eat all of the bar and drink at least half the bottle,” Victor eyes him sternly.

Dean scowls. Why the fuck does he care if Dean eats? He’s a damn adult and can feed himself, thank you very much. Still, he doesn’t really wanna start a fight this early on, so he unwraps the chocolate and takes a small piece. It is rather good, and his stomach seems to like the candy. He finishes it quickly and drinks the water, all while Victor watches him like a creep.

“Very good. Thank you, Dean,” he replies, finally taking a seat. “Alright, let me just see which trainers we have available. We took on several new clients last week and we are near capacity.” Victor clicks around on his computer, squinting and frowning, seeming frustrated. He eyes Dean a few times before he picks up his phone and hits a speed dial.

“Hi, Sir. I have a question for you... I’m sorry, I know how busy you are… Well, I have our new pro-bono client here but the only trainer available is Milton… I just don’t think she's a good fit… his subamine is at a two, Sir… Yes, a two… I know how low that is. That's why I wanted Lafitte or Walker, someone with more experience to take his case…in my office, why? Alright, see you soon.” Victor hangs up the phone and leans back in his chair.

He wonders who on earth Victor would refer to as _Sir_. He isn’t left wondering long as the door to the office swings open and Dean’s jaw drops. The man from the cover of the pamphlet strides into the room—same dark parted hair and sharp blue eyes…which are now leveled directly at him. 

Dean knows instantly he is so very screwed.

***

Castiel tries not to blink. He keeps his gaze fixated on the young sub sitting below him. The man has sandy brown hair, perfect plump lips, and eyes a mesmerizing shade of green. He’s gorgeous, easily the most attractive sub Castiel has interacted with in… 

He swallows, trying not to think the word _ever,_ but it’s right there on the tip of his tongue. This man is a vision. He also must be the pro-bono client, the submissive with levels so low, Castiel wonders if they should go to the medical center first. But with all his credentials, he knows better—despite the man’s thin frame, the bags under his eyes and the sickly pallor of his skin, what the beautiful sub needs right now isn’t a doctor…what he needs is something Castiel can give him. 

He breaks eye contact abruptly, rounding on Victor as he sits behind the desk. 

“Did he attend orientation?” he asks, his voice a steely rumble. He stands up straight, fidgeting with his unruly tie. His suit jacket is on the back of his chair in his office, abandoned along with the paperwork he was right in the middle of completing. 

“No, Sir.” Victor squirms a little in his chair, but holds eye contact with Castiel as he adds, “I thought it best to bring him straight here, to make sure his levels were stable before letting him tour the facility.”

Castiel nods his approval, but crosses his arms against his chest, thinking hard. “Pull up his file.”

Victor makes a few minor clicks on the mouse, then brings up the sub’s profile. His name is Dean Winchester, Castiel reads, and he’s a twenty-one-year-old car mechanic from a small town in South Dakota. He’s a little over six feet, but doesn’t weigh enough for his frame. There are a few notes from his state-required six-month submissive training, and though the information is a few years old now, it notes that Dean is open sexually to male or female dominants, but responds best when dominated by men. Yes, Castiel thinks dimly, that would likely leave Anna out. And she’s the only open dominant accepting new subs today.

“Where’s the rest of his paperwork?” Castiel asks. “The medical information necessary to review before treatment?” Victor’s brow furrows. There are important documents in that introductory packet, including his medical history and previous experiences as a submissive. 

“We sent it to his address…” Victor says, then looks up from his computer, his voice heavy with authority, if only for a moment. “Where’s your paperwork, Dean?”

The sub slouches in his chair. “Oh, um…sorta forgot about it.” He grins sheepishly, adding in a rush, “Sorry, Sir,” though his tone is still light and amused. 

Castiel bristles, feeling a spike of irritation rise in him. Though beautiful and disarming, Dean doesn’t seem to have much respect for their facility, its processes, and by extension, Castiel himself. 

Castiel feels his gaze turn stony. He walks calmly toward Dean, his steps measured until finally, he’s hovering over the man. 

“Is this funny to you, Dean?” he asks. 

Dean looks him right in the eye, defiance painted in every feature. “I dunno, Sir, maybe. I’ve been told I have a good sense of humor.”

Castiel feels a spike of adrenaline course through him. It’s been forever since he’s been with a submissive this resistant, this inherently bratty. He generally dominates the upcoming graduates from the facility, to both ensure they’ve been properly trained and to fulfill his own intense, biological urges. Dean’s unyielding attitude is unusual, both angering him and making his cock twitch with interest. It’s been a long time, _too_ long since he’s been with anyone who’s challenged him like this. 

He shouldn’t like it, admire it, even—but it sends a shiver of excitement up his spine. 

He threads his hand into Dean’s short hair, pulling roughly, angling his head up. 

“What the—” Dean says, but Castiel just pulls harder. 

“Listen carefully to what I’m about to tell you, boy,” Castiel growls, working hard to keep his voice level. Ten minutes ago, he was hunched over a soul-crushing pile of contracts—now he has hands on a gorgeous, though obstinate, sub. It’s a very exciting turn of events for someone who sits behind a desk most days. 

Dean doesn’t respond, just blinks up at him with large, doe-like eyes. 

“There is nothing charming about ignoring directions, nothing amusing about putting your health and safety at risk. Your tone is nothing short of insolent, which I cannot abide.” 

He tightens his grip again and Dean winces, though Castiel notices with some satisfaction that his eyes are flickering to his lips, his pupils slightly dilated. This man is certainly a submissive, though he’s clearly done everything possible to suppress and ignore his own biology. 

“So you will be punished.” Castiel drops his hand, then turns around, clearing a hefty wooden coffee table. A stray issue of _Dominant’s Weekly_ and a novel called _Subs in Love_ falls to the floor, but Castiel barely notices. He takes a seat on the table, deliberately slow and measured in his every movement. “Take off your pants, Dean.”

The surprise on Dean’s face is apparent, though the lust is there, too, simmering beneath the surface. “What…?”

“Do not question me, boy.” Castiel keeps his voice cold and detached, despite the waves of euphoria threatening to flood him. “I promise, you will not like the answer you receive.”

It’s risky, dominating Dean without having access to his full file. It’s against every protocol they have at Purgatory, many of which Castiel wrote himself. But Castiel also has good instincts, and Dean is in a dire situation. He needs to be forced into submission in a desperate way.

Dean swallows visibly, looking slightly stricken. He stands up and unbuttons his jeans, but turns back around at the desk in the corner, looking embarrassed that Victor is watching. Though Castiel has a suspicion this sub actually enjoys being watched, he plays along. 

“We could’ve had privacy if you’d been a good boy,” he says, and Dean looks regretful for a moment. 

“Sir,” he begins, in a much softer tone, “I’m…I’m sorry. It’s just weird being here, and I’m really stressed out, feeling sick and all that… Can’t we just start again?”

He looks at Castiel with wide, pleading eyes, and Castiel almost gives in. Almost. 

“Dean, you have two minutes to drop your pants and climb into my lap.” Castiel touches his slacks, fighting a shiver of arousal. “It’s not a request.”

There’s a quiet, guttural whine that comes from the back of Dean’s throat, and then he’s bare from the waist down. His boxers and jeans pool at his feet, and he moves to cover his half-hard cock with his hands, but Castiel slaps his hands away. 

“Did I tell you to cover yourself?” he snaps.

“Um, no! No Sir. Sorry Sir.” Dean’s hands come to his sides, revealing a fairly sizable and mouth-watering cock. He drops his head down to his chest, eyes on the floor as Castiel examines his nakedness. Castiel can’t help it—he touches Dean’s hip, travels down to his thighs, pointedly ignoring his cock as he touches the man’s skin. He feels a burning sensation inside him at Dean’s show of submission, his beauty, his bareness. 

“Such a pretty cock,” Castiel says appraisingly, and Dean’s eyelashes flutter against his skin as he breathes in and out. “If I had your paperwork, I would know the results of your medical screening and I could’ve rewarded you for being a good boy. I could’ve dropped to my knees right here.”

Dean sucks in a sudden breath, face red.

“Would you have liked that, Dean? To have my mouth on you? To see a Dom on his knees, pleasuring you? Swallowing you down?” He looks up, noticing Dean’s mouth clamped shut. 

“Answer me,” he demands. 

Dean shifts on his feet. “Y-yeah. I mean, yes, yes Sir.”

Castiel fights the urge to grin. “It’s too bad, then, that you had to forget your paperwork. Isn’t it?” He drops his hand, the one that had been edging dangerously close to Dean’s erection. “On my lap, _now_.”

Dean lets out a shaky exhale and fumbles his way into Castiel’s lap, lying down on his stomach, his ass perched perfectly in the air and his groin against Castiel’s. He’ll no doubt have to dry clean these trousers later, but given the buffet of beautiful sub currently filling his lap, he figures it’ll be worth the expensive bill. 

“Have you ever been spanked?” Castiel asks, aware that this sub must not be very active in his play—otherwise, his levels wouldn’t have dropped so dangerously low.

“Yes, Sir,” Dean says, his voice muddled, his tone difficult to discern. 

“Did you enjoy it?” Castiel rubs a hand on his backside, admiring how firm and tight his skin is, how perfect it feels under Castiel’s palm. 

“Not really, Sir.”

The erection pushed against his thigh tells another story, though Castiel figures that could be from any manner of things—the voyeurism, the humiliation, the adrenaline of being properly dominated, perhaps for the first time in his life. 

“We’ll see about that,” Castiel mumbles, then adds in a commanding rumble, “I want you to count, boy.”

He brings his hand across Dean’s ass, his fleshy, taut cheeks immediately blooming red. He waits a few seconds, then says, “I don’t hear you.”

“One…um, one. Sir.”

Castiel brings his hand down again, and again. 

“Two, three, f-four…”

There’s a burning sensation in the palm of his hand as he strikes Dean, the smack of skin against skin igniting a fire within him. 

“Five, six, seven…”

Dean’s body is still full of tension, his shoulders tight, his hands clenched in fists. He’s resisting it, Castiel thinks, he’s fighting his body’s instincts. He smacks him again, much harder this time, and Dean cries out. 

“Shit! Eight, nine…please, Sir, this hurts—”

“I need you to let go, Dean,” Castiel says, trying to sound unaffected, even though he knows Dean can feel the tent growing in his pants. “I need you to submit, to trust me with your body and your wellbeing—”

“How can I do that when you’re fucking hitting me?” Dean snaps, then adds, with a burst of anger, “You know what, _Sir_ , fuck you, and fuck this fucking place—”

Castiel hits him harder. Dean curses, swears loudly under his breath. He struggles in Castiel’s lap, and whether he’s trying to escape or rub his erection against Castiel’s thigh isn’t quite clear. Castiel manages to hold him with one hand, using the other to unknot his tie and free it from his collar. He hasn’t had to use a prop like this in ages—anytime he’s dominated a sub, he’s been in a fully equipped playroom, with rope and other tools at his disposal. The amount of improvising he’s doing for this man sends another burst of lust straight to his groin, and he moans quietly, feeling amped up and powerful. He forces Dean’s hands behind his back and ties them roughly with his silk tie, the sub breathing heavy against his lap. 

“For that little outburst, boy, you’ll have to start over,” he says calmly, bringing his hand down again with a substantial smack. Dean begins counting again, his voice labored and breaking, his arms still struggling against the tie. Five hits later, Dean’s ass is a gorgeous cherry red color, and he’s stopped fighting his bound hands. Ten hits later, there are tears coming from the corner of his eyes, streaming down his face. Anna swings the office door open at some point to check in with Victor, and her eyebrows raise in clear surprise. It’s not the act of a public spanking that’s surprising—Castiel would bet there’s another sub getting spanked somewhere on the property, right this very second—it’s the fact that it’s _Castiel_ administering punishment. He hasn’t been hands-on with a sub like this in years, and though it seemed necessary at the time, the feeling of turned-on sub writhing around in his lap is _exhilarating_ in a way that research never is.

There’s another new sub standing behind Anna, and when Dean cries out again, everyone’s attention is on him. Even Victor looks interested, admiring Dean’s tight ass from behind his computer. 

“You like that, don’t you?” Castiel pulls Dean’s head up by the root of his hair, making him watch as the bystanders witness his punishment. “Having them watch you? The way your ass is on display for anyone to see? Your body being used for my pleasure?”

He punctuates the last question by rubbing his hard, clothed-cock very intentionally against Dean’s stomach. Dean whimpers, his cock leaking against Castiel’s pants now. 

He sends another hurtling slap down to Dean’s bare bottom, and the sub arches his back up, chasing some sort of pleasure he hadn’t been before. 

“Th-thirteen,” Dean breathes, and Castiel brings his hand down again and again, watching in rapt attention as Dean begins to moan after each hit. The cries of pain have turned to cries of pleasure, and the last trace of tension leaves Dean’s shoulders as he drops, fully submitting to Castiel. 

“Beautiful, Dean,” Castiel encourages, bringing his hand down again. “You’re being so good.”

Dean’s erection pulses on Castiel’s leg, the sub’s breathing erratic as he chases an orgasm against Castiel’s thigh. There are tear tracks running down his face, a sequence of moans and whines that go straight to Castiel’s eager cock. _My God,_ he thinks, _how amazing it would be to pound into this sub from behind, to fuck the defiance right out of him—_

Dean comes with an urgent cry, spilling all over Castiel’s pants. The release is warm and substantial and Castiel’s eyes flutter closed, reveling in the debauched feeling against his leg. When’s the last time dominating someone felt this good, this rewarding? This enticing? 

“Dean,” Castiel says, trying to even out his breath, “did I tell you you could come?”

“Oh…oh, fuck, I’m sorry, Sir. I’m so sorry.” He sounds genuinely distraught, taking Castiel by surprise. “I…I wasn’t good, was I? I wasn’t good. Oh, shit…Sir, I’m…bad. I know I am.”

Realizing his mistake, Castiel shushes him quietly, running a hand through his hair. “Dean, be quiet for a moment. Take three deep breaths for me, okay?”

He puts his hand on Dean’s back, waiting to feel the rise and fall of his chest. Once he’s sure that Dean is no longer mid-panic, he helps the sub to his feet, lowering him to a kneeling position at Castiel’s feet. He continues rubbing his hand through Dean’s hair, his grip soft and tender now. 

“Dean, you were not bad. You were extraordinary.” He uses his thumb to wipe a tear from the corner of Dean’s eyes. “Thank you for giving me your submission. It was a beautiful thing to behold. Truly, it was a gift.” 

Dean sighs, relief evident on his shoulders. “So I was…good?”

“Very good,” Castiel confirms, loving the dazed look on Dean’s face as he simmers in his obedience. There’s no telling how long it’s been since he’s experienced a release like that, and Castiel can’t bring himself to be anything but thankful. “But you’ll learn during orientation not to come without permission, sweet boy, and you’ll ask next time. Won’t you?”

“Yes Sir,” Dean breathes happily, leaning into Castiel’s hand, eyes closing pleasantly. “Shit, that was…that felt so good, Sir, like…like I was floating.”

Castiel smiles, feeling like a weight has been lifted off him. Pleasing a sub brings him an intense feeling of satisfaction, and he adjusts a little in his seat, his erection growing uncomfortable against his zipper. 

“I’m glad. That’s how it’s supposed to feel.” He touches Dean’s face softly once more, then says, “Follow me into my office, Dean. I’d like to look after you.” It’s not a proper aftercare suite, but Castiel figures the juice in his mini fridge and the blankets draped over his loveseat will suffice for today. 

Dean nods his head, looking groggy. “Can I…um…?” He points down to the pants around his ankles. 

“Ah, yes, you may dress.” Castiel looks down at his own clothes, though, and gets an idea. A deliciously _wicked_ idea. “Though, not before you clean me up. I’m afraid you’ve gotten me quite dirty, Dean, and it’s your responsibility to fix this.”

Dean blushes, looking up at the wet spot and come smeared against Castiel’s trousers. “Yeah, sure. Where’s the bathroom? I’ll just go get some paper towels—”

“When you have a perfectly good mouth?” Castiel says, feigning confusion. “No, sweet boy, you’ll lick up every drop.” 

Dean’s eyes widen. “You want me to…?” 

Castiel nods. “It would make me very happy to watch you do so.”

Dean lets out a shaky chuckle. “Shit, that’s kinky. Um, okay, Sir.” 

He waddles closer to Castiel’s groin, his knees undoubtedly rug-burnt. Then he releases his soft, pink tongue, swallowing down his own come, moaning a little when Castiel’s hand comes to the back of his head in encouragement. 

“Gorgeous,” Castiel purrs, feeling the drag of Dean’s tongue through the fabric, imagining how it would feel to have that tongue a few inches to the right. He hasn’t been this turned on in years, he’s sure of it.

When Dean is finished, Castiel wipes a drop of come from the bottom of Dean’s lip, the sub instinctively sucking his thumb into the corner of his mouth. “You are wonderful, Dean. I think you’ll do quite well here.”

There’s a pang of regret in Castiel’s heart then, thinking about all the other Doms who will get to work with this gorgeous man. But he’s not a trainer anymore, not officially, and he has his paperwork, his research… After today, he can’t get distracted. 

“Thanks, Sir.” Dean blushes again, a demure shade of pink. “Can I…can I ask you something?”

Castiel regards the man on his knees, between his legs, looking humbled and satisfied and curious. It’s a total difference from the cocky, uncooperative sub who walked in less than an hour ago. The transformation pleases him, however fleeting it may be. 

“You may, sweet boy.”

“What’s your name?” Dean asks in a rush.

Castiel lets out a small chuckle. For some reason, he finds himself wanting to confide in Dean—mentioning more about his background at the facility, about his family. He suppresses the urge though, offering him a small smile instead.

“Castiel,” he says softly.

“Castiel,” Dean repeats, the word sounding long and formal in his mouth. " _Cas_. I like it, Sir.”

Castiel feels a flicker of endearment spark inside him, a connection tethering him to this wild man—this sub who came to their facility on the precipice of death, and already seems to be on the mend after one orgasm. But he suppresses the feeling, pushing it down where he can process it later. He stands up briskly, all business again, and looks down at Dean.

“Come, Dean,” he says in a commanding rumble, and walks back toward his office. Victor and the others just watch, silent, as the sub follows at his heels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: We are obviously stretching science here with this fic. Some of the way the neurotransmitters and hormones work in this fic is not how they work in the real world. We bent this world to fit our kinky dreams and I think we can all agree that is a very very good thing :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel learns more about Dean's previous encounters with other Doms, and they visit the facility's medical expert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, friends! It's Friday, and we're so excited 1) for the weekend, and 2) to post another chapter of our new fic. We were so jazzed about the response of the first chapter—as usual, you guys are AMAZING and enthusiastic and basically our type of people, haha. We love going on this journey with y'all.

Dean’s feet are a bit wobbly as he follows the navy suit in front of him. He isn’t sure what the hell happened back in that office. His mind feels slow and he’s fairly certain he just wants to curl up and take a nap. He just focuses on following this Dom and tries not to think too much about the very public spanking and orgasm he just received. He’s pretty sure his ears are still beet red.

Dean Winchester does not like to be spanked…at least, he never liked it before. He remembers gritting his teeth through spankings in the past, even paddlings, that hurt more than what Castiel put him through. He never cracked. He usually just sang Metallica in his head and waited for it to be over. One Dom really lost his shit when Dean wouldn’t cry and laid into him. Dean was no pushover, though, and broke the guy’s nose before taking off. 

He can’t understand why this time was so different, why it felt so…amazing. He isn’t sure if it was just Castiel, the humiliation of it being public like that, or what…but his body had finally thrown up the white flag. Instead of it feeling terrifying, it had actually felt freeing. His ass was so exposed, and his pants around his ankles—he’d felt small, and somehow, unbelievably cared for. Safe. The orgasm had snuck up on him and been the final cherry on the pie. He had no idea how Castiel made him like something he normally loathed so much. To top it off, Castiel thought he was _good_. Doms rarely thought he was good, even when he really was trying to be.

“This way, my good boy.” Castiel places a hand at the small of his back and encourages him into the office before them, breaking his train of thought.

“Not a boy,” Dean protests, but he’s not sure why it matters. This man had no problem bending him over his knee like a child.

“We’ll see about that,” Castiel answers, with a bit of humor in his voice, keeping the hand on Dean’s back and guiding him toward a soft looking couch.

Castiel grabs a blanket and wraps it around him. Dean wants to protest, but he _is_ a bit cold and it's so freaking soft. 

“Sit.” Castiel points at the couch, and so Dean does, gasping a little when his sore ass hits the cushion. The fucker grins at him. “Hopefully that will serve as a reminder to take this training seriously.”

Dean ducks his head, trying to hide his flaming cheeks while Castiel grabs some orange juice from the fridge and hands it to Dean.

“I already had some water earlier, Sir.” Dean is glad he remembers the “Sir” at the end. He doesn’t think this Dom will give him any leeway.

“I wasn’t asking if you were thirsty. I am in charge of your care now, Dean, and I say to drink at least half that juice.” Castiel levels that Dom-stare at him and he struggles not to roll his eyes. Judging by the look on Castiel’s face, he can see the defiance in him—so Dean quickly opens the juice and starts drinking. It's sweet and soothing and he feels his mind almost log back online a bit.

“Thank you,” Dean says, once he’s finished his drink and he realizes Castiel is sitting next to him, rubbing circles on his back. It feels incredibly nice, but he doesn’t get why the guy is doing that.

“How are you feeling, sub?” Castiel continues to rub the circles with one hand while taking Dean’s pulse on his wrist with the other.

“Better, Sir,” he replies, and it's the truth. He does feel a little less embarrassed and surprisingly less tense. He still doesn’t get why Castiel is being so nice, though…he had seemed so pissed before.

“Come sit here, then, and we can have a talk.” Castiel guides him toward a chair in front of his large oak desk, and Dean shucks off the blanket before taking a seat. The hard wood chair is less forgiving on his sore cheeks, but he doesn’t complain. Plus, judging by Castiel’s face, he doesn’t want to hear it.

Castiel settles himself behind his desk and begins typing on his computer. “Alright, Dean. Since you didn’t bring your history paperwork, we will just have to fill out the form together now.”

Dean does roll his eyes at that, but luckily Castiel isn’t looking.

“At what age did you engage in your first scene?”

He thinks on that for a second. “Um, sixteen.”

“That's fairly young. Was there a sexual aspect to the scene?” Castiel is looking at him carefully now.

“Well, yeah. Isn’t there always? Sir.” _What kind of scene isn’t about sex?_ Dean thinks.

“Not at all. Many people engage in scenes without any sexual gratification or sexual acts.” Castiel looks upset. 

Dean isn’t sure what he said to make him look like that, but he doesn’t like it. “Sorry, Sir. I’ve never heard of that.” He shrugs, watching Castiel frown at his screen.

“Was that also your first sexual experience?”

“It wasn’t my first time having sex.” Dean chuckles nervously. “But yeah, it was my first time subbing and, uh, bottoming.”

Castiel looks like he has a lot more questions he wants to ask, but just types in Dean’s response instead. Dean’s glad for it. He really doesn’t like to remember his first time and definitely doesn’t want to relive the embarrassing and painful experience in front of this Dom.

“Do you have a consistent scene partner or Dom?”

“No, Sir.”

“How often do you scene?”

“Um, one weekend every two months or so…if I have time.” He crosses his arms, feeling awkward talking about this stuff. It's a necessary evil, but he doesn’t ignore it completely.

“That's not very often. What level were you assigned at the state facility?”

Dean cringes, thinking Castiel already knows the answer. “Um, I think a ten. But really I get by fine with a weekend or two.”

Castiel sighs, rubbing at his forehead. The idea that he’s disappointed this Dom makes Dean’s stomach twist. 

“Dean, ten is the highest level submissive. I have no doubt they told you that you would need daily sceneing and possibly a twenty-four-seven relationship to stay stable.”

“They may have mentioned it…” Dean could never live like that. Constantly beat and under someone’s thumb? No way. “It’s just not for me.” He gives Castiel a firm look—they can say what they want, but when he gets out of here there is no way he is going to become someone's twenty-four-seven slave.

“Hopefully with some proper education and training we can convince you otherwise.” Castiel sighs again, typing away on his computer. “And how often do you achieve light or heavy subspace?”

“Umm…” Dean hesitates. Castiel is _really_ going to hate this answer. “Never, Sir. I mean, sometimes I get close, but uh no…never,” he babbles, shifting in his chair.

“Surely you’ve hit subspace before? You presented five years ago.” Castiel is looking at him again, but this time more with concern then disapproval.

“No Sir.” Dean shakes his head. The idea of subspace secretly terrifies him—being that vulnerable and out of it. No way would he trust any of the Doms he has met not to take advantage.

Castiel curses under his breath, leaning back in his chair. He runs his long graceful fingers through his thick hair and Dean marvels at just how handsome he is. “This is much more serious than I thought. No wonder you’re at such critically low levels. We will get that remedied here as quickly as possible.” Castiel gives him a reassuring smile that he doesn’t return.

“How often do you ejaculate?” Castiel’s question takes him a bit off guard.

“Uh, I dunno. Once a week, maybe? Not as much as I used to.” Dean shrugs. His libido has been dropping off for a while now, but he didn’t really wanna talk about it.

“Last question. You’ve been a very good boy.” Castiel’s praise feels sorta amazing, like it tingles through his whole body. “Can you tell me any kinks or activities you have enjoyed in the past, and ones you did not?”

Now _that_ is a hard question to answer. He wants to say he hates most of it, though he knows his body doesn’t hate all of it. He worries if he tells Castiel about things he doesn’t like, he may try to force him to like it. 

“Dean?” Castiel prompts him.

“I like some bondage sometimes. And, uh, I don’t mind a little pain.” He thinks it’s a pretty vague answer, but Castiel just smiles and nods his head, so he continues. “I don’t like blood play, or uh…you know, the messy stuff.”

“Scat and watersports?” Castiel supplies, and Dean feels his cheeks flush.

“Yeah, I don’t like that. Honestly I don’t like a lot of this stuff.” He gestures vaguely around him.

Castiel stands up and walks around to the front of his desk—just a foot from Dean—and leans back, arms crossed.

“Dean, I know we’ve only just met and I don’t know your full history. However, I think you have had a poor introduction to your orientation and the kinks available to you. What do you see as the purpose of a Dom-sub relationship?”

Dean blinks up at him, feeling suddenly small. “Uh, well the Dom tells a sub what to do and takes what they want from the sub. The sub is supposed to like it or deal.” It's his honest answer—his needs and pleasure were never once the focus of any scene he ever did. The Doms do what they want and leave, and sometimes Dean feels a little better after…but most of the time, he just feels worse.

The room is quiet, and he looks up at Castiel to see a sadness on his face. “Sorry,” he says, though he isn’t sure what he’s apologizing for.

“Don’t apologize, Dean. If that is your experience of this kind of relationship, then I believe there is much I can teach you. Will you submit yourself to me and the Doms of this facility, and trust us with your care?” Castiel looks him in the eyes now and Dean studies his face. It’s a silly question—Dean has no choice in being there unless he wants to have a warrant put out on him. Still, the fact that Castiel is asking makes Dean want to give it to him.

“Yes Sir,” he answers as politely as he can manage.

There’s a knock on the door then and they both look to see Victor enter the room. 

“Hello, Sir. I have the admission attire for the sub, and his belongings are in locker seventy three.”

“Thank you, Victor. I will keep responsibility for the sub’s orientation and we can readdress assigning his main trainer tomorrow.” Victor nods before ducking out of the room. Dean wants to scowl that—they are both just talking over him—but he’s distracted by the white bundle in Castiel’s arms. 

“Alright, stand up for me, sub. We need to get on with your exam and tour of the facility.”

Dean stands up and straightens his shoulders. He may be a bit nervous but he isn’t gonna show it.

“Now, remove all your clothing and fold it neatly on your chair there,” Castiel directs. His tone isn’t harsh or leering, it’s more matter-of-fact.

“Right here?” he asks.

“Now, sub.” Castiel’s voice takes a harder tone, and Dean can tell he is pushing his luck.

He pulls off his flannel and t-shirt first, tossing them on the chair. He barely has a chance to move to his pants when he feels a hand sink into his hair and grip, _hard._

“OW!” he cries out, reaching up to grab at Castiel’s wrist…but he has a tight hold on his hair.

“Is that what I told you to do with your clothes?” Castiel asks, in an infuriatingly calm voice.

“No, Sir,” he answers quickly.

“I do not wish to punish you again so soon, as lovely as your reddened cheeks are. Rules are there for a reason, Dean. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.” He sighs in relief when the hand leaves his hair, and he quickly moves to fold his shirts. His shoes and socks follow and then his jeans. He hesitates at his boxers, his last line of defense.

“Those as well. You’ll have to get over that modesty here,” Castiel adds with a bit of a smile. _Kinky motherfucker,_ Dean thinks as he drops his boxers and folds them on top of the pile.

“How lovely,” Castiel muses, looking him over. Dean struggles not to blush too hard at the scrutiny, and really hopes he can just get the new clothes on. “Do you like being bare for me, Dean? Exposed and open for me?” Castiel’s voice sinks into a deeper, warm tone.

Dean’s cock begins to harden a bit, and when Castiel steps up to him—a chuckle on his lips—it only gets worse. 

“Oh yes. You do like that, don’t you?” Castiel teases. 

Dean shakes his head no, unable to find his voice. 

“Your body doesn’t agree with you, and neither do I. You’ll learn to trust your body, Dean, and your instincts.”

Castiel's finger runs up along the underside of his cock with the lightest touch, and Dean gasps at the pleasure of it. _How on earth is he this hard after having just come?_ “S-Sir?”

“I am very pleased, Dean. This is a beautiful cock and you should be proud of it. Unfortunately, we can’t have you coming again without permission, so…hands front.”

A bit bewildered, he offers his hands to Castiel. Before he can blink Castiel has attached two white, leather cuffs to his wrists. “Now spread your legs a bit for me. Shoulder-width apart.” Dean wants to object, but finds his body already complying and moving into position. Castiel kneels down with two larger cuffs, attaching them snuggly around Dean’s upper thighs, and with a quick click, his wrist cuffs are attached by a short chain to the cuffs on his thighs. 

Dean can’t lift his hands at all.

“Why?” he asks, pulling at the cuffs and wondering how he will fit into a shirt or pants now.

“You don’t need to worry about why, Dean. I am worrying about the why, and I am doing what is best for you now. Lift your chin… There's a good boy.” Castiel moves toward him with a white leather collar, and his eyes go wide. He flails backward, the chain catching on his cuffs. He loses balance, and would’ve hit the floor if Castiel didn’t catch him. “Easy sub. You’re alright, just take a deep breath.”

Dean is shaking…and when did _that_ happen? He watches Castiel, taking calm soothing breaths. He follows till he feels a bit steadier on his feet. 

“Not a fan of collars?” Castiel asks calmly.

“Just, uh…it doesn’t have one of those zappers in it, does it?” Dean asks, even though looking now he can tell it’s just an average white leather collar.

“Zapper?” Castiel asks, brows furrowed and head tilted. He’s almost adorable—if a man like Castiel could ever be described in such a way.

“Yeah, electric shock. I don’t like those.” He wants to rub at the phantom pain on his neck, but the cuffs restrict him.

“Did someone do that to you?” Castiel looks heartbroken now, though that wasn’t what Dean had wanted at all. Why is this Dom so worried about him?

“Yeah, a Dom I was with once used one and it was really painful…like, not the fun kind.” He lifts his chin a bit and Castiel runs a finger over the old burn scar that still sits there, angry and pink. He’s shocked when Castiel leans over, planting a soft kiss on the raised skin. The feel of lips on his skin—so caring and gentle—makes something within him purr contentedly.

“No one here will cause you harm. You have my word. This is just a plain leather collar, which all our submissives-in-training wear.” Castiel holds it up for Dean to inspect, and he nods, allowing Castiel to fasten the collar without panicking again.

“Uh, Sir?”

“Yes, sub?”

“How will we get my clothes on?” he asks, dreading the answer. As he feared, the man gives him a tight lipped smile. Castiel clips on a leash Dean hadn’t seen to the front of his collar, and afterwards, stands back and admires Dean.

“We won’t be getting your clothes on. Now come, we have much to do and we’re already late,” Castiel replies, with a now smug grin. Dean follows in his wake, with what might now be a permanent blush on his cheeks.

***

Castiel attempts to keep focus as he walks down the long hallway and into the foyer. He keeps his grip tight on Dean’s leather leash, letting the sound of the wrist-to-thigh chains clink together, soothing him, reminding him that Dean is okay. Castiel is taking care of him. Even so, he’s deeply unsettled by the treatment Dean has experienced outside the facility. He has no doubt the staff will uncover more trauma in the days to come, as they begin intensive play. Castiel swallows a lump around his throat, imagining anyone but _him_ dominating this beautiful sub. But of course, someone else will. Castiel is too busy to take on a full-time sub, especially one in need of such constant care. 

Dean lets out a slow whistle when they reach the front foyer, and Castiel chuckles a little under his breath. He supposes the room is quite impressive—marble floors, pillars, a grand foundation dedicated to the board of directors. They pass by a row of office doors, and Dean stops in front of Castiel’s, pointing at the golden name plate and exclaiming, “Hey look! It’s you.”

Castiel smiles a little sheepishly as Dean’s eyes go wide. 

“Uh, woah. You didn’t tell me you were the ‘Head of Research and Training.’” There’s an array of emotion flashing on Dean’s face—awe, nervousness, excitement, embarrassment. A receptionist passes by and he attempts to cover himself, first his ass and then his cock. When the chains on his wrist prevent him from shielding either from the stranger’s gaze, his ears turn a delightful shade of pink. 

“I’m not the interesting one, Dean. You are,” Castiel says graciously, tugging gently on the collar to remind Dean to follow his lead. They only take a few more steps before Dean has stopped again, though, peering at a framed photo on the wall. 

“You look young here,” Dean mutters. Castiel sighs at the thought, taking a step back to examine the photo. 

“I was. I was around your age, sweet boy. Fresh out of college.” It’s when he first took a position with Purgatory, beginning as a trainer. In the picture, he’s wedged between his brother Gabriel, hand in his pocket and a sucker sticking out of his mouth, and his father Chuck, an easygoing smile on his face. 

“Who’re those guys?” Dean asks. At the question, Castiel feels his walls begin to rise again. Dean is here for serious medical attention—not to listen to Castiel discuss his family problems.

“So curious, aren’t you?” Castiel says, lowering his voice down to a purr. “Perhaps I should call you kitty. Such an inquisitive little rulebreaker you are.” He trails his fingertips from Dean’s collarbones, to his pecs, before finally settling on the dusty pink buds of his nipples. He pinches them and Dean gasps in surprise, his attention properly diverted. “Would you wanna play, kitty?”

Dean chuckles low in his throat. “I, uh…I dunno, Sir. Maybe later.”

“Hmm, well then…let’s continue your tour, shall we? Before I decide to see what you’d look like, crawling around on all-fours, licking me with your pretty little tongue.” 

He glances down and notices Dean’s cock is already half-hard again, just by the mere suggestion of being dominated in this way. Castiel smiles to himself, adding a mental note to include “pet play” as a suggested kink in Dean’s folder. He tugs on Dean’s leash again, mindful not to put too much pressure on his collar, and they continue walking into the heart of the facility. 

Castiel leads him first to the intermediate suites, the place where new subs stay before they’ve been paired with a dominant trainer. Castiel tells the young sub working the front desk—a gangly kid named Alfie wearing staff scrubs—that Dean’s duffel bag is in locker seventy-three, and needs to be retrieved and placed in a temporary room. The boy says, “Yes, Sir!” in a quick, enthusiastic tone and heads off in the opposite direction. Dean watches him go, looking surprised. 

“He’s a sub, too?” he asks in a whisper. Then adds, “Uh, Sir.”

“He is,” Castiel concedes, but still seeing the looking of confusion on Dean’s face, continues. “Purgatory employees all manner of people, Dean. The trainers are Doms exclusively, of course, since it wouldn’t be very effective or beneficial for a sub to dominate another sub. But outside of training, many of the staff you’ll see milling around are subs themselves, or switches.” 

Dean hums low in his throat, looking like he’s unsure what to make of that. 

“You seem surprised,” Castiel comments, as they continue walking down the hallway and toward the activity center. 

“Yeah, I guess I kinda expected everyone to be a Dom. And just sorta pass me around like a party toy.” He chuckles, trying to play cool, but Castiel can sense the underlying anxiety simmering beneath the surface. He turns and faces Dean, tucking his hands on Dean’s neck and massaging the tension he feels growing there. 

“I can assure you, Dean, that no one here sees you as a ‘party toy.’” He forces a strained smile, imagining yet again what sort of Doms this sub must’ve come in contact with before. “You are a person, one with likes and dislikes, with kinks and hard limits. And if anyone in this facility treats you otherwise, please come and find me. I promise, I won’t let anything bad happen to you here.”

Dean is looking down, his expression unreadable. His gaze lifts though, and he smiles weakly. “Thanks, Sir,” he says, opening and closing his mouth like he intends to add more. In the end, though, silence falls between them, and Castiel accepts his cue and moves on. 

He shows Dean to the gym, pointing out the closet of provided workout attire—one of the only places in the facility subs are encouraged to be fully clothed. Next, he shows Dean the indoor pool and jacuzzi hot tub, places where he can imagine cozying up to Dean in a variety of ways. He mentions the outdoor pool, though in April it’s still a tad too chilly to take a dip, and mentions a variety of walking trails and sports activities at Dean’s disposal. Dean looks impressed but not particularly excited about these options, but when Castiel shows him the game room and movie theater, he’s tempted to wipe the drool from the corner of Dean’s mouth. 

“So, I can come and hang out here whenever I want?” Dean asks, eyes wide and sparkling. 

“Anytime you’re not scheduled to be elsewhere,” Castiel reminds him gently. “You will be in training for several hours each day, and there are mandatory classes you’ll take throughout the week.”

Dean grumbles something about “not coming here just to go to school,” but Castiel smirks and looks away, pretending not to hear him. There’s something about Dean’s fiery spirit that he enjoys immensely, and he hopes that whichever Dom ends up training Dean, that they won’t stamp out that natural fire burning within him. He trusts all the trainers here, of course, having taught and observed them all firsthand. _But still_ , he thinks, tucking a protective hand around Dean’s neck as they head into the medical ward, _there’s something about this sub that’s special._

In the medical suite, Castiel tells the receptionist that they’re here for a quick meet-and-greet with the doctor. They’re ushered through a series of doors quickly enough, and then the doctor greets them. 

“Well, isn’t this a nice surprise? If it isn’t the most handsome Dom in this place.” Dr. Pamela Barnes grins wickedly, the white lab coat looking stark and professional compared to her wild brown curls. She shakes his hand confidently. “Good to see you, Sir.”

“And you as well. Always nice to see the most charming switch in town,” Castiel says kindly, though his comment isn’t untrue—he knows Pamela well enough outside of work to know she has no trouble finding play partners. Doms, subs, male, female, she seems to have a way with everyone she comes in contact with. She leads them into her office, shutting the door behind her with a click.

“We can’t stay long, I’m afraid,” Castiel says. “I’m just stopping by to make introductions. Doctor Barnes, this beautiful boy is Dean.”

Dean flushes, looking embarrassed and a little irritated. “Dean Winchester. Not a boy, by the way, but Cas here keeps on forgettin’.” He flashes a cocky grin then, trying to take control of the situation. “Right, Sir?”

Pamela’s face flashes with incredibility, looking scandalized and a little excited to see such a mouthy sub challenge someone as high-status as Castiel. Castiel, for his part, doesn’t show any hint of emotion, just says in an even tone, “On your knees, Dean. Hands in your lap, mouth closed, head down. You will not speak again unless spoken to.”

Dean glowers, looking disgruntled, but lowers himself down to the floor. It’s carpeted, but not excessively plush, and Dean will no doubt have carpet burn on his knees by the time they leave. 

“You’ve got a mouthy one here, Sir,” Pamela comments with a grin, sitting behind her desk. “I like his spunk. Reminds me of myself when I sub.” There’s a mischievous twinkle in her eyes that sends Castiel hurtling into the past. He’s dominated Pamela on a handful of occasions, when either of their needs arose, and it’s always been a pleasant experience. 

“I can attest to that,” Castiel says dryly. Down on his knees, he sees a flicker of emotion crossing Dean’s face, but he remains silent. 

“He’ll need medical attention soon—immediately after lunch, I’d say.” Castiel pulls up a chair across from her desk, settling in on the cushion. “When he arrived earlier, his subamine was a two. Luckily, we had a quick spanking session that turned his cheeks a gorgeous shade of red—” He brings a hand down Dean’s spine, trailing a finger down his skin. “—and his resistance and irritability seemed to diminish quickly after orgasming. Still, I expect his blood work will reveal dangerous hormone levels, so it will be necessary to use the most stringent training schedule possible for lasting results.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Pamela says with a nod. “I’ll be sure to share my report. Is he low level, or high level?”

“Certainly high level.” Castiel runs a hand through Dean’s hair, admiring the smooth texture. “He’s also quite bratty, as you’ve seen firsthand. He’ll require a strong hand to feel safe and taken care of. I suspect he’s a masochist with a praise kink, but I’ve only spent an hour with him, so that’ll be for his trainer to decide.”

Pamela nods in agreement. “I was surprised to see you back in the training saddle. You won’t be taking on his care, then, Sir?”

He feels another pang of regret that he can’t dominate Dean himself, but he brushes it aside, suppressing his feelings. It’s a familiar act for him—it’s never mattered how he _feels_ about something, not even as a child. 

“No,” he says, and then more quietly, unable to keep the regret out of his voice, “Unfortunately not.”

The meeting wraps up a few moments later. When Castiel tells Dean he can speak again, and to ask any questions he might have, the sub just sulks, staring down at the floor as if it’s wronged him somehow. Suspecting that Dean’s bad mood might be related to lunchtime, Castiel pulls on his leash and leads them toward the cafeteria. It’s bustling inside, almost every table filled with staff sitting in chairs or on couches. There are subs scattered about, almost exclusively on the floor, some of them at the feet of the trainers—others, enjoying a free period and chatting amongst themselves. Castiel is asked to join at least three other tables—he’s rarely in the public cafeteria, having grown accustomed to taking meals in his office—but he declines them all on Dean’s behalf. The sub has been quiet, moody and withdrawn, and Castiel finds a more secluded table for them and takes a seat. 

“Dean, I’d like you to get your food,” he instructs, and Dean’s eyes raise half an inch from the ground, looking interested. Castiel waves him forward, unclipping the chains from Dean’s thigh cuffs and letting his hands go free. “Because it’s your first day, and because you need a little more meat on your bones, you’re welcome to select anything you’d like. We have a wonderful selection of cuisine here. My only requirement is you retrieve yourself a glass of water, not soda or coffee, in case you’re dehydrated.”

Dean looks a little awestruck at the open invitation to visit the buffet, and he nods, smiling a little as Castiel dismisses him. He watches from the table, grinning to himself as Dean hoards plate after plate onto his tray. He comes back with all manner of junk food—pizza, fries, and apple pie. _I should’ve required him to put something green on his plate_ , he thinks belatedly, but doesn’t admonish himself too much. For an endangered sub like Dean, having an appetite at all is a step in the right direction. 

Dean pulls out the chair directly across from Castiel, and the Dom quirks up an eyebrow at him. “You’ll be eating on your knees, boy. Now drop your tray off with me—I’ll be in charge of your intake. Retrieve a padded mat for your knees on the counter over there. Then, come right back.”

If Dean’s expression could talk, Castiel is pretty sure it would say— _are you fucking serious?_ He narrows his eyes and stalks away, but Castiel isn’t bothered by the sub’s attitude. He has a feeling Dean will be resistant to most things before he tries them properly, and knows this sort of defense mechanism is just to mask his nerves. 

Dean returns in the same surly mood and drops the mat on the floor, his knees quickly following. He looks up at Castiel with narrowed eyes, looking pouty and mischievous and absolutely gorgeous.

Castiel uses the fork and knife on the tray, slicing a large bite of pepperoni pizza. “Open,” he commands, and Dean compiles eventually, the gesture filled with irritation. He chews slowly, then more quickly, a small smile appearing on his lips. 

“Good?” Castiel asks, though Dean’s face drops back into a scowl. 

“S’okay, I guess,” Dean says dismissively. He doesn’t address Castiel properly, but the Dom decides to let it slide for now. Over the next few minutes, he feeds Dean two whole slices, wiping his mouth with a napkin and tilting the cup of water against his lips. Some color has returned to his cheeks, his mood considerably less surly. Castiel picks up a fry with his fingers and slides it between Dean’s lips, feeling a rush of blood to his cock when Dean’s tongue licks at the salt on his fingertips. If the next few fries are any indication, Dean is doing this on purpose, riling up Castiel because he wants to. Dean’s cock is thickening against his thigh, and even in a room full of delicious food, Castiel thinks it’s the most mouthwatering sight. 

“You’re feeling better,” he says as a fact, not a question. He gives Dean another drink of water, chasing stray droplets away with his thumb. “Can you tell me what upset you earlier, Dean?”

Dean shrugs, then, seeming to understand the disrespect in the gesture, mumbles, “I dunno, Sir.”

Castiel finishes feeding Dean his fries, pleased to see all the food almost gone. Though, there is the pie, which Dean has been eyeing eagerly from his spot on the floor. 

“You know, our baked goods are delivered from a local bakery,” Castiel says casually, spearing a bite of the pie onto the fork, swirling it in the air. “The crust is flakey and buttery. I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything quite as good in a long time.” Fork still posed in his hand, he says in a low voice, “Good boys answer questions, and get rewarded.”

Dean swallows, looking almost pained at how badly he wants the pie. “I, um…” He looks down. “Well, if you really wanna know, I’m pissed off that you told me to be quiet earlier. I’m not a damn dog, Sir, and you can’t just keep me quiet whenever I do something you don’t like. I’m not gonna become some weird, sub slave in this place. Not for you, not for anybody.”

Castiel nods, having suspected as much. “Open,” he commands, and slides the fork into Dean’s mouth, the bite of pie disappearing behind his teeth. The sound the sub makes is nearly pornographic, and it makes Castiel’s cock push against the zipper of his slacks. 

“Aren’t you just divine?” he mumbles, using the next bite to feed Dean with his fingers. It’s just as pleasing as he expected—the sensation of Dean licking the sweet filling off his fingertips fills him with lust. 

“Dean,” he begins, trying to clear his head of desire and wanting, “please know that I don’t want you to become a slave. I want you to stay fierce and opinionated and witty and smart, and all the other wonderful attributes I’ve seen you display since meeting you.” 

Dean swallows his mouthful of pie, blushing profusely. 

“But you have to know that there are rules. There are things I’ll do and decisions I’ll make that are imperative to your health and wellbeing. Not just me, but any Dom you train with.” He offers up another bite, and Dean lunges for it, nearly swallowing Castiel’s fingers along with it. “When we were with Doctor Barnes, I could see you were uncomfortable. Likely because Doctor Barnes is an attractive women, and I know from your chart that you’re bisexual. You were likely intrigued that she was a switch, and figured you could get away with more around her. Am I right?”

Dean doesn’t answer right away. He asks for another sip of water, which Castiel gives, and then he licks his lips and mutters, “Yeah, maybe. Sir.”

“I knew having you listen, not speak, would help you focus on the medical information we were discussing. I also knew it would ease some of the pressure you had put on yourself to charm Doctor Barnes, and eliminate the risk of you challenging my authority and earning yourself another punishment,” Castiel explains matter-of-factly. “I love hearing what you have to say. But in this instance, silencing you was a way to de-escalate the situation and help you focus, sweet boy, because your health is my primary concern. Of course I value your input, and know your opinion on your treatment here is very important. If you remember, I asked you afterwards if you had any questions for the doctor. Did you?”

Dean’s expression is difficult to read, but when he speaks, his voice is soft. “I did, yeah. Have questions I mean. But I was too pissed off to ask.”

Castiel chuckles, shaking his head. “I suspected as much.” He takes a napkin, wiping the stray crumbs from Dean’s plump, pink bottom lip. The urge to kiss him runs through Castiel’s body, like a shot of adrenaline pumping through his veins. He resists, but only just. “Do you feel better now, sub?”

Dean nods minutely, a sheepish smile creeping on his face. “Yeah, um…everything you just said, about making that decision to help me focus…it makes sense, I guess. Sir.”

Castiel beams down at him. “I’m pleased to hear it, Dean. Seeing you well-fed and in a better mood makes me feel much better, too.” He grips the back of Dean’s neck, touching his smooth, freckled skin. He really is gorgeous—and just being in his presence makes Castiel’s feel more alive somehow, like he’s opened his eyes for the first time in years. But when he glances up, he sees Alfie heading past their table, and calls him over. 

“Alfie, would you escort Dean back to see Doctor Barnes? And then give him time to settle in?” 

“Of course, Sir,” Alfie says with an appreciative squeak, and Dean looks up, uncertain, like he’s not sure if it’s okay to leave Castiel’s side. 

“You’re not coming, Sir?” he asks finally, discomfort painting his features again. 

“I’m afraid I need to get back to work,” Castiel says regretfully. “But I meant what I said, Dean. If you need anything during your stay at Purgatory, you know where to find me.”

Dean’s bites his lip, looking panicked for a moment. But when he glances back up, his features have been smoothed out, his perfect mask back in place. “Sure thing, Sir. Thanks for, uh, dominating me or whatever.” He laughs, and Castiel joins in quietly, thinking again about how disarming this young sub truly is. He watches Dean walk away with Alfie, feeling peculiar and empty, and wondering for the first time in a long time if something’s missing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at these two knuckleheads, already bonding. It's almost as if they have a… _profound_ …bond…


End file.
